compressed into boxes, packed in sawdust,… trussed up in sacks, roped up like hams…

cadavers’ intestines hanging like a parade streamers off the sides of tables, skulls bobbing in boiling pots, organs strewn on the floor being eaten by dogs…..

It is difficult to put words to the smell of decomposing human. It is dense and cloying, sweet but not flower-sweet. Halfway between rotting fruit and rotting meat.

It is as if people refused to leave their dead alone, forced them back into the light, made them keep their composure even in death.

You know that movie, where the little boy says ‘I see dead people’?The Sixth Sense.Well, I see them all the time, and I’m getting tired of it. That’s what’s ruined my mood. Here it is,...

There is absolutely no worse death curse than the humdrum daily existence of the living dead.

It’s not that people don’t know when they’ll die. It’s that they don’t seem to know they’ll die.

All of my best friends are dead people. Someday I’ve got to figure out how that happened.

I don’t want to see no dead body. Willie ain’t in there. She put her walkin’ shoes on. She gone to see the Lord.

E’stata reale prima di tutti noi. Siamo solo nati ottocento anni troppo tardi per poterla incontrare.

Mama wasn’t dead…exactly. They all said she was, but when Elma was small, she seen Mama creep into her room at night, half-naked, head all bloodied red like when they found her by the well...

Yes, but they also don’t protest when you root through their pockets.

They all call me “Excuse me,” even though my nametag clearly says “Jordan.” It’s like people don’t actually exist while they’re working. Workers are just tools who aren’t supposed to have feelings or personalities. You...

I knew that I would know more dead people. The bodies pile up. Could there be a space in my memory for each of them, or would I forget a little of Alaska every day...

Only the dead, can speak about their world.